


Apples Worth the Eating

by Problem_Seeker



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, No Smut, Oneshot, Pining, a little knowledge is a dangerous thing, capitals for Emphasis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 03:03:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19368661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Problem_Seeker/pseuds/Problem_Seeker
Summary: What if the first thing Aziraphale ate was an Apple?Well, then, he'd spend the next six millennia regretting it.***And because this has been brought to my attention this weekend:I, Problem_Seeker, have not given my permission for my work to be posted on any third-party website or app such as Fanfic Pocket Archive Library (Unofficial) or others with a similar business model.





	Apples Worth the Eating

### 

Apples Worth the Eating

Strictly speaking, Angels don't need to eat.

When The Almighty had seen fit to produce Angels from...whatever it was The Almighty created Angels from, She gave them the ability to subsist without the need for food, drink, or the other messy biological needs that humans found themselves in thrall to. And as Earth, with all its myriad things to taste, had yet to be created when Aziraphale was formed, food was not something he was particularly interested in.

At least, not at first.

After he was given the position of Guardian of the Eastern Gate ("Oh, thank you ever so much. Great honor, Almighty. I'm eager to get started right away. Now where did I set that flaming sword...?"), Aziraphale had the opportunity to see just what all the fuss was about. The humans ("Adam and Eve," he reminded himself) seemed to enjoy eating. They wandered the garden, plucking fruits from the trees and letting juice dribble down their chins. And considering just how sticky their chins were, eating must have been absurdly pleasurable.

Aziraphale took his job seriously, but he had to admit he enjoyed taking a break to watch Adam and Eve go about their day. They were...comfortable...with one another. He liked the way Eve rested a hand on Adam's arm, the way Adam's fingers brushed Eve's hip, the way they reached for one another as they slept. Aziraphale was used to feeling The Almighty's love, but the love between Adam and Eve was something new entirely. God's love was warm and soft and constant; human love was as sharp and as hot as the flaming sword Aziraphale carried in the Garden.

It was certainly a novel experience for the Guardian of the Eastern Gate.

He was content with things as they stood. Guard the Gate, protect the humans, wave his sword threateningly at the Demon that kept slithering into the bushes every time Aziraphale so much as looked in its direction. As time went by, Eve's belly grew larger, probably from all the fruit she was eating. Adam, curiously, had no such trouble with his own stomach, but perhaps the difference was all part of the Ineffable Plan. In any case, it was all so different from life in Heaven, so _interesting_ to see places full of greenery and empty of Angels, that Aziraphale thought he might be content forever.

It wasn't meant to be, of course. Aziraphale was supposed to be keeping an eye on Adam and Eve, but he did try to give them space and privacy whenever possible. On that day ("Apple Day," Crowley would later slur during one of their drunken binges, "that's what I call it. 'Cause of the apples.") Aziraphale had trouble finding his human charges. He wandered the Garden, trying not to panic, calling their names as he walked. He was too worried to notice the serpent sliding back under thick foliage, or else he might have undertaken an interrogation at the tip of a flaming sword.

Aziraphale stood before The Tree. The Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil and The Only Thing That Absolutely Should Not Be Eaten in the Garden or Else. The Apple Tree. He was horrified to see that on the ground, near the roots of The Tree, was a half-eaten Apple.

He had never fainted before, but Aziraphale strongly considered the reaction in the moment. Here was the one rule of the Garden — don't eat The Apples — and it was broken. Either Adam or Eve, or, Almighty forbid, both of them, had eaten the one fruit they weren't supposed to.

The Angel stared at the fruit on the ground, trying to will it away. Maybe if the evidence were gone, The Almighty wouldn't notice. Maybe Adam and Eve wouldn't be punished. Maybe everything could stay as it was, without the need for vengeance. But he couldn't exactly miracle it away — someone in Heaven would be sure to see a stray miracle being performed — and burning The Apple with his flaming sword was going to leave a lot of evidence in the form of smoke and flame and ashes. No, he would have to think of another way to get rid of it.

Before he could consider what a spectacularly bad idea it was, Aziraphale ate The Apple.

(Later he would learn that apple cores were not meant to be eaten. Fortunately, with an Angel's constitution, he didn't have to worry about the ill-effects that a human would. Still, the experience was unpleasant enough that he never did repeat it.)

"Oh, my," he said, licking juice from his fingers. "That was scrummy."

Something in him shifted then. A sense of shame, a sense of having done something _dishonest_ rose from somewhere in the pit of his stomach. He was trying to _lie_ to The Almighty! It was his job to keep the humans out of trouble and instead he was trying to lie to his omnipotent, omniscient creator! Yes, The Apple had been delicious, and he could hardly fault his humans for eating it, but—

The rumbling of the Earth and the booming, disappointed voice from the sky was not directed at him, but it might as well have been. He heard The Almighty chastise Adam and Eve and banish them from the Garden. They were to leave and never return. They would suffer out in the world for daring to gain knowledge that was forbidden to them. They had done Wrong.

Aziraphale shook in his robes, certain that God was going to turn Her attentions to him next. But there was no light from the sky, no booming voice, no headlong dive into a sulfurous pit. Was it only humans that were forbidden from eating the fruit, or was The Almighty merely waiting to visit a more serious punishment upon Her disobedient Angel?

If so, it didn't seem to be arriving immediately. Aziraphale decided that he would take the opportunity to seek out his humans and perhaps give them some words of encouragement. They were being thrown out of the only home they'd ever known, after all, and he did love them in his own way; it would be wrong not to say something to them.

He didn't expect the wave of pity that washed over him when he finally found Adam and Eve again. They had clothed themselves in leaves, and their faces were tear-streaked. With a start, Aziraphale belatedly realized that Eve's swollen belly was not, as he had initially believed, from eating so much fruit, but from carrying a child. Was The Almighty really going to cast the two of them out into the desert, with the wild animals and the cold nights, at a time like this?

Before he could stop himself, Aziraphale thrust his sword into Adam's hand, babbling that they should take it and leave Eden as quickly as they could. On some level, he suspected that what he was doing was Wrong, but how could he just let them go? How could he turn his heart away from the two creatures he loved best in all of Eden?

From his place on the wall, Aziraphale watched them go. When the snake slithered to stand beside him and turned into a Demon, he hardly looked up. But it was difficult to ignore the Demon next to you when it started talking politely of lead balloons. Aziraphale found himself responding with the same politeness, surprised that the Demon didn't seem to be the foul, obviously evil creature he'd expected. It was uncomfortable to talk to an enemy with the level of comfort he was feeling, and Aziraphale rather wished the Demon would do something worthy of smiting so he could send him away.

Whatever discomfort Aziraphale felt was obviously not shared by his companion. "Bit of an overreaction, if you ask me." The Demon glanced at him with snakelike eyes. "First offence and everything. I can't see what's so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil anyway."

The Apple he'd eaten returned to Aziraphale's mind and he hoped he hadn't blanched under the Demon's gaze. "Well, it must _be_ bad...?" He trailed off, suddenly wanting to address this creature by more than just a title. Why was he groping for the Demon's name, as if it mattered?

"Crawley," the Demon offered.

"Crawley." The name felt strange in Aziraphale's mouth. Earthy. Grounded. He kept talking to push beyond it. "Otherwise you wouldn't have tempted them into it."

Crawley didn't seem offended, instead offering a sort of halfhearted shrug. "Oh, they just said, 'Get up there and make some trouble.'"

On a number of levels, this was a worrying development, not least of which that the conversation should not have continued to the point where they could casually discuss orders from their respective sides. Aziraphale needed to make his line in the sand, to remind both him and the Demon — Crawley — of their situation. "Well, obviously," he said. "You're a Demon. It's what you do."

Even this failed to put Crawley off. "Not very subtle of The Almighty though," he continued, thoughtfully. "Fruit tree in the middle of a garden with a 'Don't Touch' sign. I mean, why not put it on the top of a high mountain? Or on the moon? Makes you wonder what God's really planning."

Now the Demon offered a sort of conspiratorial look, as if to say _See here, we both know that none of this makes any sense. Can we, at the very least, acknowledge that the pair of us are up here with minimal supervision and a distressing lack of anything resembling a plan and have A Moment?_

To which Aziraphale offered a look that said, simply, _No, we absolutely cannot._

Out loud, he said, "Best not to speculate. It's all part of the Great Plan. It's not for us to understand. It's ineffable."

"The Great Plan's ineffable?" How Crawley could smirk without moving a muscle, Aziraphale didn't know, but he was absolutely sure the Demon was doing it now.

Aziraphale drew his shoulders back in defense. "Exactly. It is beyond understanding and incapable of being put into words."

The frown on the Demon's face almost convinced Aziraphale that the Demon was cracking in the face of righteousness. The angel was relieved of that notion moments later when Crawley asked, "Didn't you have a flaming sword?"

Aziraphale stammered and avoided the Demon's gaze. He would not give him the satisfaction of an answer.

Crawley wouldn't let the subject drop. "You did. It was flaming like anything. What happened to it?"

Aziraphale was steadfast in his refusal to acknowledge the Demon. "Uh..."

But even without looking, he could feel the smirk radiating off the Demon. "Lost it already, have you?" Crawley asked, with just an air of taunting in his voice.

Aziraphale could take it no longer. "Gave it away," he mumbled.

"You what?"

"I gave it away!" Even Aziraphale thought his voice sounded like a wail. "There are vicious animals. It's going to be cold out there. And she's expecting already. And I said, 'Here you go. Flaming sword. Don't thank me. And don't let the sun go down on you here.'" He let out a little whimper and added, "I do hope I didn't do the wrong thing."

He hadn't meant to admit the last part out loud. But the conversation with Crawley had been almost pleasant and the eating of The Apple was still weighing so heavily on his mind that he just had to say something to relieve the ache in his chest.

There was something gentle, almost kind, in the Demon's expression. "Oh, you're an Angel," he said. "I don't think you _can_ do the wrong thing."

Aziraphale could have wept with relief. If a Demon still thought he was an Angel, could only do good, then maybe The Apple didn't matter. Maybe he really was blowing everything out of proportion. "Oh, oh, thank—Oh, thank you. It's been bothering me."

Crawley wore a serious expression as he added, "I've been worrying, too. What if I did the right thing with the whole 'eat The Apple' business? A Demon can get into a lot of trouble for doing the right thing." A brief pause. "It'd be funny if we both got it wrong, eh? If I did the good thing and you did the bad one?"

The idea was so absurd that Aziraphale found himself laughing along with Crawley. Imagine, a Demon doing Good and an Angel doing Evil! Aziraphale _knew_ what Good was. He didn't know what Evil was like, so of course he wouldn't be able to identify any Evil action he took.

_Unless, of course, you ate an Apple that told you the difference._

The laughter froze in his throat. "No," he told Crawley. "It wouldn't be funny at all."

"Well..." Crawley said, unconvinced.

Perhaps the conversation would have continued, if the first rainfall hadn't happened. The Demon tensed up as the clouds above threatened to split and spill. Would it be holy water, Aziraphale wondered, that came from those clouds? Would the Demon beside him be utterly destroyed beneath the deluge?

Out of instinct, Aziraphale lifted one of his wings. Crawley had already begun moving towards Aziraphale and huddled under the wing gratefully. "That's new," the Demon muttered. "Not sure how I feel about that."

His shoulder brushed Aziraphale's, and the Angel wondered if evil was supposed to feel a lot like love.

* * *

  


Having already sampled The Apple, Aziraphale could see little point in denying himself additional experiences with food. Bread had been heavenly (though he'd mentally asked forgiveness for implying that such an Earthly foodstuff was in any way comparable with the magnificence of Heaven). Wine was remarkable, though he quickly learned to sober himself before a hangover set in. Desserts were a delight. Meat dishes divine. Seafood was a marvel. Everything he tried, he loved.

The more humans there were, the more things he was able to sample. They were so clever, humans, with their imaginations and their crafting and their hunger to see more, know more, experience more. They sang songs. They made art. They built things that Adam and Eve in the Garden had never even thought of! Against his better judgment — he should have stayed aloof and unattached — Aziraphale loved the humans and their foibles.

In his private moments, though, he did admit that feeling all their love made him feel a bit lonely. While he often formed friendships with them, humans were remarkably short-lived. There was also the fact that he could never stay in one place too long. Humans noticed when he didn't age or sicken like they did, and Aziraphale found it was best if he removed himself from their presence long before that point. Besides, he was supposed to be wandering the Earth spreading miracles and thwarting the Evil One; staying in one city to sample the cuisine was hardly his divine purpose.

Crawley popped up more often than Aziraphale had been expecting. Somehow they kept running into each other. With a world so big, how were they in the same town so often? Why was Crawley always eager to come over and say hello, to chat about what he'd been up to in the time since they last saw each other? Didn't he know they were enemies?

_Of course he doesn't know,_ Aziraphale's mind whispered. _He didn't eat The Apple. He doesn't know the difference between Good and Evil._

Was that true? Surely a Demon — a creature who had once been an Angel and was now Fallen — would have a stark understanding of the difference between the two sides. And surely Angels would know how to recognize Evil, or else how could they be certain they were doing Good? Clearly it was only _humans_ who were supposed to remain ignorant of the difference, and celestial and infernal creatures were exempt.

Right?

_If that's true, then why have you felt different since The Apple? Why spend so much time wondering what the real difference between Good and Evil actually is?_

The thought didn't bear further consideration. As he always did, he pushed it to the back of his mind and buried it under the desire to do Good.

* * *

  


Aziraphale couldn't take his eyes off Crawley's — Crowley's — mouth as the Demon slurped down an oyster. "So that's what all the fuss was about?" Crowley asked him. "That's why you came to Rome?"

"You didn't like it?" Aziraphale asked, deflating like a balloon. "Oh, I do apologize. I strong-armed you into coming here and now—"

"I didn't say I didn't like it," Crowley interjected. "I'm just saying that it's a long trip to Rome for a bit of raw seafood."

"Yes, well, it was something new to do."

Aziraphale couldn't explain why his mood had soured so suddenly. It wasn't like he'd made the oysters and was personally affronted by Crowley's disinterest. He'd just been so excited to try them (novelty was becoming rarer by the century) and he was hoping someone else would share his excitement. He shouldn't have expected so much from a Demon, really. It was silly to expect commiseration from your hereditary foe.

The Demon must have seen the displeasure in his expression. "Don't be cross," Crowley said. "They're really very good."

"I'm not cross," Aziraphale said, crossly.

Did Crowley have to smirk so loud? And did he have to do it while slurping down another of the "that's what all the fuss was about" oysters?

"What do you want to do after lunch?" the Demon asked unexpectedly.

"I'm sorry?"

Crowley gestured around them. "We're in Rome. I don't much like the gloomy shows, but a comedy's all right. Maybe there's one on somewhere."

Aziraphale stared. "Are you asking me to see a show with you?"

Crowley shrugged casually. "Thought it might be something to do. Up for it, angel?"

The way Crowley said "angel" brought the same terror and stomach upset that The Apple had. Surely nothing Good could come of this. _This is Wrong,_ Aziraphale's mind whispered. _You shouldn't have gone to lunch. You certainly shouldn't see a show. He is not your friend. He is The Enemy. You know the difference between Good and Evil, and this is it._

"Well," the Angel said out loud, "I suppose we could see what's playing."

Crowley's smile almost made up for his insult towards the oysters.

* * *

  


Aziraphale wouldn't call Crowley his friend; the voice in the back of his head — The Apple — reminded him that Crowley was a Demon and firmly on the side of the Opposition. Just because they shared meals together and got drunk together and laughed at jokes together didn't mean they were friends. At best, they were two creatures that had been in the muck together so long that they knew no one else really understood how things were on Earth. It didn't make them friends.

And yet, when Crowley ran into a church to save him after they hadn't spoken in nearly a hundred years, Aziraphale couldn't deny that something made his heart soar. When the dust settled and the pair of them stood amongst the rubble, with Crowley's hand brushing his as the precious books were returned safe to his hand, the Angel felt such a strong sense of love trying to burst out of his chest that he couldn't speak.

_I love Crowley,_ he thought, amazed and horrified.

This was Wrong. This was Wrong in neon lights twenty stories high. This was Wrong in the form of an Apple Tree in the middle of a garden with a sign saying Don't Touch (This Means You!). This was Wrong on every moral, ethical, and spiritual level known to Celestial kind.

_Can you see it now?_ The Apple whispered. _Don't you see the difference between Good and Evil now?_

"No," Aziraphale whispered back. "No, I don't think I can."

* * *

  


It would be easy to catalogue Aziraphale's many, many ruminations on Good and Evil. Was it Good to give Crowley holy water? (Yes, of course. Because it could lead to the destruction of a Demon.) Or was it Evil to give Crowley that thermos? (Yes, of course. Because it would lead to the destruction of Aziraphale's friend.) Would stopping Armageddon be going against God's plan? (Of course. God wanted the Earth destroyed.) Or was stopping it part of the plan itself? (Surely God wouldn't want to let Satan have even a token victory?) Between these ruminations, should he have been having dinner and drinks with Crowley? (No. Yes. No? Yes?)

Even after the End Times had become the Beginning of the After the End Times, he still wasn't sure.

* * *

  


"D'you think they talk about us?" Crowley was sprawled out on the couch in the back of Aziraphale's bookshop, staring at the ceiling. 

They'd just come home from the Ritz. Neither the Demon nor the Angel were as drunk as they'd been on other, similar nights. But there were still three empty bottles of an excellent vintage of wine on the table nearby, and Crowley's glasses and jacket had come off some time before. Aziraphale remained ramrod straight in his armchair, trying very hard to remain the sensible one of them. Even now, with all that had happened since the Apocawasn't, it was hard to shake off millennia of training.

"Who?" he asked, following the line of Crowley's eyes to the ceiling.

One of Crowley's hands gestured upwards while the other gestured downwards. "You know. Them. D'you think they gossip about what happened to us here on Earth? Baths in holy water and spitting hellfire. They've got to think Earth gives immunity. Think Gabriel is wondering if he should've taken you up on your offer for sushi?"

"Oh, please, Crowley, I'm sure Gabriel doesn't think the _sushi_ is what turned me into...this."

Crowley picked up on the word emphasis immediately and sat up. "What d'you mean?" he asked.

Aziraphale felt his stomach roil and he tried to mask it with a smile. "I'm babbling," he said airily. "Drunk, you know."

"No, no, no, no, no." Crowley was sober instantly, crossing the floor and peering Aziraphale's face. "Don't do that, angel. Don't say something important and then say it was nothing. What do you mean?"

The thought of telling Crowley about The Apple was too much to bear. Surely he'd laugh himself sick, or roll his eyes, or mock. Even if he wasn't as much of a Demon as he used to be, Crowley was still, well, _Crowley_. His friend, yes, but still more bastard than good person.

So he said, "Nothing."

"Angel, no."

"Really, Crowley, it was nothing."

"You had that look on your face!"

"I ate The Apple!"

Aziraphale clapped his hand over his mouth, blue eyes wide. The reaction and expression were perfectly mirrored by Crowley, whose snakelike eyes had never been wider in six thousand years. For a beat of time, neither one of them spoke.

"You what?" Crowley asked, slowly sliding his hand from his mouth.

"I ate The Apple," Aziraphale said miserably. "That day in Eden. I knew The Almighty would be angry at Adam and Eve and I wanted to protect them. Half of it was just lying there under the tree on the grass and I ate it so no one would see what they did. But it didn't make any difference because The Almighty already knew and she cast them out and then everything else happened and oh, Crowley, don't you dare laugh because if you do I'll feel so much worse than I already do!"

Crowley didn't laugh, didn't so much as crack a smile. "You ate The Apple," he repeated. "You ate The Apple six thousand years ago and you never thought to mention it before now?"

"Well, how could I?" Aziraphale asked indignantly. "No one was supposed to eat it! I couldn't very well admit to eating the only thing in the garden that was expressly forbidden. And afterwards I started having _thoughts_ and _doubts_ and I knew it was because of that Apple!"

"What kind of thoughts?"

Aziraphale was too wrapped up in his own feelings to wonder at the non-mocking interest Crowley took in this line of questioning. "All sorts of thoughts," he said, still miserable. "I wondered why certain things were Good and why others were Evil. I wondered why...why Heaven never felt like a reward. I wondered what it was all _for,_ Crowley. Why the miracles and the tempting and the damnation and all of it. And after I went to Hell in your place, I wondered why we're supposed to fault creatures for wanting to be out of that awful, awful place, even if it meant the world had to end to do it. And I wondered why, if you were supposed to be my enemy and the very thing I'm supposed to hate in this world, why I missed you when you weren't around and worried when you wanted holy water and thought about how you could be _destroyed_ in the War and I felt _sick_ at the thought of it! And I have spent every year since 1941 trying hard not to think about how much I lo—"

He found himself quite unable to finish his sentence when Crowley's mouth was suddenly on his.

_Oh,_ Aziraphale thought.

_Oh, indeed,_ said The Apple.

And then Aziraphale was kissing Crowley back, his hands clenched in Crowley's shirt as if to stop him from pulling away. Not that Crowley was, of course. The Demon's hands were somewhat tangled in Aziraphale's fluffy hair and would not be extricated suddenly. As there was little chance either of them would suddenly move away, Aziraphale abandoned himself wholly to the kiss. Had he been feeling more alert and sensible, he probably would have wondered why they hadn't spent every day of the last six thousand years doing this instead of working miracles for their respective sides.

When their mouths broke apart some time later, Crowley said, "I ate The Apple, too."

Aziraphale felt like he was drunk again; too much new information was difficult to process. "I'm sorry?" he asked, certain he had misheard him.

"The Apple. I ate it, too." Crowley's eyes darted away, then back to Aziraphale's face. "Eve seemed happier. Adam, too. After. So I. Well. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. So I ate it. Well, I ate half of it. Then I wondered if it was the wrong thing to do, so I dropped it. So that half of The Apple that you ate wasn't from Adam and Eve at all. It was from me."

The laughter swelled up in Aziraphale's chest and burst free without warning. He laughed harder than he had at any comedic play, harder than at any ribald joke, harder than he had when he'd made Michael miracle him a towel after a bath in holy water. He laughed until tears streamed from his eyes and down his face, until his ribs felt like they would crack. Each time the laughter seemed to die down, he'd catch sight of Crowley's bewildered face and the mirth would spring up anew. Oh, laughter was glorious!

"Angel, you're starting to scare me a little," Crowley said, tilting his head to the side.

"Oh, my dear Crowley, do forgive me!" Aziraphale said between hiccups of laughter. "I'll try to control myself."

It took another minute before he finally succeeded. "Oh, you wily old serpent," he said to Crowley affectionately. "Why didn't you tell me you ate The Apple?"

Crowley shifted uncomfortably. "Couldn't figure out a good time to bring it up," he said. "The right time would have been our first talk, there in the Garden, but you looked so upset when I started asking questions that it didn't seem right to just drop it in casual conversation. And after that, well, it just would have been awkward, wouldn't it? 'Oh, hi, Aziraphale, hey, did I ever mention that Apples containing forbidden knowledge are delicious?'"

The comedy of the situation abruptly left Aziraphale. "So all this time you've been struggling with these doubts...alone?" he asked.

Crowley looked at him again. "Never really thought I was alone," he said quietly. "I thought, 'Well, he might not have eaten The Apple, but he's company, at least.' And then you were more than just company. You were — are — my best friend. The only one worth stopping Armageddon for. With you around, I never felt like I was alone."

The love Aziraphale felt — from Crowley, from himself, from the whole of the world in that moment — was as close to divine ecstasy as he'd felt in millennia. He took Crowley's hands in his. "And you never will be," he said, softly but forcefully. "It's clear to me now. The difference between Good and Evil."

"Oh?" Crowley asked. "How so?"

Aziraphale struggled to find the words. "It's not...it's not like Heaven and Hell think," he said. "It's not two sides with a hard line between them. Humans weren't wholly Good and then made an Evil choice. That choice was in them from the very beginning. Just like it was in _us_ from the very beginning. We're supposed to find the Evil hiding behind Good, so that we don't take Good for granted. We're supposed to find Good thriving despite Evil, so that we have hope. Crowley, I finally understand. We were on _our_ side all along, just like you said, even when I was too afraid to see it. There is Good, and there is Evil, and the only Wrong thing is to think those things aren't sometimes the same thing."

Crowley's mouth quirked up in a smirk. "That was," he said, "a load of bollocks."

Aziraphale scowled at him. "Well, let's see you come up with better!"

A line appeared between Crowley's eyes as he considered. _"I_ think," he said, "that it's ineffable."

A grin spread its way across Aziraphale's face. "My dear—"

"Don't." A brief scowl arranged itself on Crowley's face. "Or I'll be forced to point out that, in a very technical sense, I successfully tempted you six millennia ago. I offered an Apple and you ate it."

"You did no such thing!" Aziraphale protested. "You ate half an Apple and threw it away!"

"Ah, but you never would have eaten the rest of The Apple if you hadn't seen it half-eaten on the ground already. So really, I convinced you to do something you never would have considered on your own. Honestly, if Hell were still keeping score, that would be a bloody fantastic write-up for a memo. 'Dear Head Office, have successfully tempted an Angel to fall in love with me. Now kindly piss off while I spend the rest of Eternity loving him back.'"

Aziraphale's cheeks hurt from smiling so much. "Do you really mean that?"

"Wouldn't have said it otherwise," Crowley said. "What do you say, angel? Want to spend the rest of our time on Earth figuring out the difference between Good and Evil? Together, this time?"

Aziraphale reached out and cupped Crowley's cheek. "Perhaps a little later," he said softly. "I rather feel we have some lost time to make up for first."

Crowley only grinned in response.

End

**Author's Note:**

> The dialogue between Crowley and Aziraphale at Eden is shamelessly lifted from the TV series; it was too good not to use. Everything else is mine, however.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, commenting, or leaving kudos. This fandom really makes me smile.


End file.
